


Unbound

by constellationqueen



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, I'm probably bending the rules of the TG universe, JUST, M/M, Neil is the One-Eyed Ghoul, Torture, chapters will alternate between Andrew and Neil, i don't care, i don't even know what this is, i'm honestly so bad at tagging, idk - Freeform, no one is trying to bring the two species together, probably, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellationqueen/pseuds/constellationqueen
Summary: The Tokyo Ghoul AU that no one asked for and that shockingly hasn't been done yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves*
> 
> So, first of all, this is now officially my "side project." This Is What Hollows is taking the front seat, and this is being left on the back burner, but I do still plan on updating this periodically. I have no idea where the plot is going. I don't intend to follow the plot of TG or TFC tbh, so I'm kinda sitting here like ????? ?? ???
> 
> Take this as you will

Neil runs, lungs in his throat, heartbeat a wild animal that pounds in his ears and against his ribs. His breath comes rapid and shallow. There’s pain in his side and along his spine and in his shoulder, but he ignores it. He has to, has to keep running. His mother made him promise; he can’t stop, can’t stop, needs to get away no matter how much blood he’s losing, no matter how much his lungs hurt. It takes a distracting amount of energy to keep his kagune from releasing given the state of panic that he’s in, but it’s not even twilight yet, and there are too many humans on the streets. He’s already being hunted down by the Ravens; he doesn’t need the Doves after him, too.

Unwilling to slow down, Neil cuts a turn sharp, heading for an alley, and ends up blowing the corner, slamming into the side of the building. _Fuck_. He hits the brick with his fist and shoves off, forcing his legs to keep moving. His thighs burn, but he can’t stay here. He can’t stay here because he _promised_ , because he doesn’t know close to him his father is, but his father’s men are absolutely on Neil’s tail.

With his thoughts racing too far ahead, Neil trips and barely manages to catch himself. He scrapes up his palms, adding to the mess of blood that he’s already trailing behind him. _Fuck, focus_. He pinches his eyes closed, allowing himself three seconds to breathe, to think, to remember the layout of the city.

God, he’s starving. He’s been awake for ten hours, and in that time he hasn’t eaten anything. Today was supposed to be a feeding day. He stomach growls and pinches in pain, but he’s not going to let his hunger consume him. He doesn’t have time to think about food, he can’t take the time to eat. He needs to get the fuck out of here – find a car to steal, maybe, or get on a train or take a taxi or _whatever_ , he just needs to disappear.

He’s just so fucking hungry. And he’s surrounded by people, by food, and it would be so easy right now, so fucking easy to just –

Neil makes himself start moving again, pushing to his feet and walking first, but quickly picking up a sprint again. He knows where the train station is, but it’s too far for him to even think about making a run for it. He could catch a taxi there, but he’s bleeding so heavily that he doubts anyone would pick him up. Even if they did, any human “model citizen” would want to take him to a hospital, and that is the absolute last thing he needs. He may not heal as quickly as a Rinkaku or even a damn Koukaku, but he’ll heal eventually. If he could just stop for a moment and rest, eat something….

 _No_.

 _Get ahold of yourself._ He stops and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. To distract himself, he focuses on the map of the city that he holds in his head. There’s a parking ramp a block over, and it should be easy enough to sneak in and jack a car, hopefully without anyone noticing his bleeding wounds. Having a goal makes it easier to ignore the gnawing in his stomach, and Neil moves quickly and quietly through the alleys. All he has to do is get a car and drive. It doesn’t matter where he goes, he just needs to get far away from here, away from this city, and then he’ll be okay. He can eat, sleep, figure all of this out.

On his own.

The sudden weight of Neil’s isolation, now that he’s acknowledged it, is crushing, and he staggers, bracing a hand against the building beside him. His mother is dead. The constant, protective presence that has been by his side for eighteen years is gone. Dead. _Dead_. Breathing gets harder for Neil the longer he thinks about it. Ten hours ago, Neil woke up to his mother shoving him off the bed, whispering harsh words to make him get up, grab his shit, and run. Eight hours ago, Neil’s father found them, and seven hours ago, Neil watched his mother get ripped apart by his father’s Bikaku.

Voices float towards him, scattering his thoughts like smoke on the wind.

“I don’t know, Bill, he just doesn’t look good.”

“Sally, leave the kid alone.”

Neil sucks in a breath, and fuck he can _taste_ the two people standing near him. He can taste their blood, their flesh, their organs. _Jesus, please, go away._ He tries to say it, tries to walk away, but he’s so fucking hungry. He doesn’t want to be that person. He knows he’s a freak for _not_ wanting to be that person, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, but when the woman steps forward, when the breeze catches her scent and blows it directly in his face….

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The new voice is a chill seeping into Neil, settling down in his bones until they ache and it’s all he can do not to shiver. Panic makes him deaf to the way the words echo, and he looks frantically around, wondering if it’s possible for someone to hide behind the graffiti-marked dumpsters a few feet away, or if the source of the voice is from above, on the roofline. But the alley is empty except for the man and woman huddled together at the end, who are turned away from Neil, facing down the street.

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” Another new voice, snarled and low. Neil is curious enough now to shove down his hunger, to jog out of the alley and past the two humans. He knows it’s not a good idea. He should take the diversion with both hands like the offering it is and run. He’s terrified because his father is here, because his father’s men are experienced with their kagune and definitely not starving like he is. But he has to know for sure if any of the people these new voices belong to work for his father or for his father’s employers. He has to settle this curiosity now, to know whether or not these are ghouls interrupting the relative quiet of the evening, or just some drunk humans having a go at each other.

There’s no one on the street except for a few weary pedestrians, so Neil keeps jogging. The voices are shouting now, and the sound of a physical fight hits his ears. Three people, judging by the echo and the vibrations in the air, two of them larger than the other. A kid? He’s paying attention now that he’s about to potentially put himself at risk.

The sound draws him to the next alley over, and Neil rounds the corner and focuses his senses in time to see a quinque release and pierce the shoulder of a blond ghoul.

Doves. _Fuck._ Neil knew that there were doves in this city, but it’s alarming that they had been so damn close to him without him realizing it. He needs to leave, _now_.

He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as he watches the ghoul fight back. The ghoul’s kagune release and they’re stunning, arched and deadly and such a dark red that they may as well be black. Neil can’t look away from the aggravated way the scorpion-like Rinkaku strike at the two Doves. The attacks miss their marks, perhaps due to inexperience fighting, perhaps due to an overwhelming amount of pain or emotion. Regardless, the Doves dodge the attacks, even without the use of a second quinque. Blood spurts and gushes around the chain-like quinque lodged in the shoulder of the ghoul. The wound is so similar to Neil’s own that for a moment he’s stuck in deja vu. Every movement that the ghoul makes drives the quinque deeper into his flesh, inflicting a wound that is going to be more and more difficult to heal from.

The death of Neil’s mother is still raw in his memory, painful in his chest in a way he didn’t think would be possible. He feels her loss as a wound, a gaping hole in his being that needs to be cauterized to heal. The memory of her is screaming at Neil right now, using her last bloody breath to tell him to run, to leave, to disappear.

But Neil can’t turn away from this.

“Hey!” Neil steps into the shadows of the alley, hands clenched at his sides. His legs are jelly, and each step is a battle. Blood runs down the outside of his arm, trickling around his elbow to drip from his fingertips. The Doves turn in Neil’s direction, and he watches the second Dove finger the trigger mechanism on his quinque. “Leave him alone.”

Releasing his kagune is second nature to Neil by now, and it feels _good_. The rush of power that always follows using his kagune floods him, and it’s better than adrenaline and he could easily get drunk on the way it feels. He knows his left eye has changed, developed the black sclera and the red iris, because his vision is better now in the shadows of the alley, able to track the Doves and the other ghoul via their body heat and the disturbances in the air from their movements.

Neil’s Ukaku flair behind him, rising above his head like a roaring fire. His Rc cells generate and die at an alarming rate, giving them a flame effect and producing in them a light red, nearly orange color. Usually, he can maintain his kagune for a decent amount of time. Now, though, starving and exhausted as he is, Neil knows that every second counts. It’s almost too easy to fling shards from his kagune at the Dove that hasn’t yet released his quinque. He cuts the human down like he’s no more than a strung-up piece of meat, clusters of hardened Rc cells ripping through tender human flesh as easily as a bullet. One shard pierces the Dove’s neck, and his eyes go wide as he chokes and drowns in his own blood.

With the other Dove now distracted by the death of his partner, the blond ghoul has no difficulty shoving one of his Rinkaku through the human’s chest. When the ghoul’s kagune retracts, dragging blood and small strips of flesh and organs with it, the Dove drops to his knees and then slumps forward on his face.

Neil’s kagune become suffocated flames; they sputter and then go out. The power that comes with using the Ukaku only lasts as long as he has enough stored Rc cells in his kakuhou to sustain them. He’s just run out.

“Why did you do that?”

Neil’s gaze is drawn to the approaching ghoul. Their eyes meet, and Neil realizes as the ghoul gets closer that, for once, Neil is taller than someone. It’s an odd thing to think, but it’s the only thing he can focus on in his current state. “What?”

“Why did you help me?”

It’s dangerous yet all too easy for Neil’s attention to slide away from the other ghoul, to observe the damage they’ve both done. Blood paints the ground and the walls. One body is ripped to shreds, and another is missing a large chunk of his abdomen. Intestines and other vital organs, many of which are damaged from the blond ghoul’s kagune, spill out of the wound. Behind Neil, at the mouth of the alley, a woman screams, and another woman gives a call for action. Neil’s vision swims, and he feels terrifyingly unsteady.

“I asked you a question.”

“I don’t know,” Neil says, startlingly coherent for a very brief moment, and then he blacks out.

When he wakes up, it’s full dark. He’s sitting up, propped against a smooth stone building. There are streetlights at the ends of the alley he’s in, providing just enough light to know that he’s not in the same place he passed out, and to catch the outline of the man crouching in front of him. After a moment of hard staring, Neil places the broad shoulders and the now amber hair as belonging to the ghoul from before.

“Where are we?”

“Oh, he’s awake.” The flat tone rolls over Neil’s shoulders as he struggles to sit up a bit straighter. He’s weak with hunger and blood loss. “You’re going to answer my questions before I even think about answering yours.”

Neil stiffens, fear twisting his gut. “I won’t tell you anything until I know where I am.” As far as he knows, this ghoul could be a new hire under his father or the Moriyamas. This could be a trap. He could have just saved his enemy.

“Why?”

Neil huffs, vaguely amused and fully aware that he played right into that question. He winces, raising a shaky hand to his shoulder to tenderly touch the perimeter of the raw wound. It hasn’t even started to heal. Neil actually thinks it’s managed to get worse. “There are people after me. Dangerous people.”

“Doves?”

“No. Ghouls. My father, among them.” It’s as much as Neil is willing to barter. “Now, where _are we_?”

Silence permeates the constrained air trapped between the two tall buildings, and tension stirs between Neil and the stranger. Neil can’t fight right now, he knows that, so his two options are to either get this ghoul to cooperate or get him to leave. There’s a third option, but that’s not really desirable. By all accounts, Neil never should have helped in the first place. Other ghouls are not his problem; his only concern is supposed to be with himself, with staying alive and keeping as far away from his father as possible.

“We’re half the city away from those dead Doves. On 43rd Street.” The information relaxes Neil, though only barely. He doesn’t have time to really process it, anyway, before the ghoul presses forward. “Who are you?”

“My name is Neil.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

The ghouls snorts. “You’re not making me want to help you.”

“Then don’t.” Neil doesn’t fail to notice the sudden deathly stillness that settles over the ghoul. It’s almost disturbing, especially in the near perfect darkness. “I’m not asking you for help. Just walk away. Leave me here.”

“You’ll die.”

Neil shrugs. “Probably. It’s been a long eight years, though. Maybe I’ve earned it.” The words slip out without a conscious effort, but he winces when he realizes what he said, when he realizes that he means it.

“I’m not helping you commit suicide, either.”

“Then go away!” Neil can’t help the exasperated snarl. “I saved your life and then you saved mine. We’re even. Just leave. Go home.” After a few seconds of silence, the ghoul vanishes. Anguish melts in Neil’s chest; it fills his lungs and he drowns in it. Two tears fall from his eyes, and each one feels like disappointment. He has let his mother down. He didn’t get out fast enough, didn’t stop to think, stop to feed. He panicked and he ran, blindly. Oddly enough, Neil realizes that he’s really not even that upset about dying. He’s just upset that his mother died for nothing. He couldn’t even survive for a day on his own, and now he’s willing to just throw his life away without a fight.

Minutes pass and they feel like hours. Starving to death is slow, even with the head start he has on it, and Neil never imagined it would hurt so much. He feels like, maybe, he’s eating himself from the inside out, his body trying desperately to grab the last bits of nutrients that it can. He hopes that that’s not the case, because that would be an agonizing way to die. The only worse thing that he can imagine is being back in his father’s grasp for what would end up being the very short remainder of his life.

A body drops in front of him and lands gracefully on its feet with the steadying help of two kagune. Something is tossed into Neil’s lap, where it lands with a thud against his thighs. Neil looks up dumbly at the blond ghoul, standing in front of him with the rest of a dead human at his feet. When he can tear his eyes away, Neil finds a severed arm in his lap.

“Eat,” the ghoul commands, impatient, and that’s all the encouragement Neil needs. He devours the arm first and then tears off other various pieces of the carcass. He doesn’t stop until he’s full, and the other ghoul waits patiently through the whole thing. There isn’t much left of the human when Neil is done. “Better?” Neil nods. “Good, then you owe me now.”

Sighing, Neil pushes to his feet. His wounds are still open and bleeding, but the cold is a beautiful numbing agent. He feels full, and in that regards at least, he’s content. He’s not at his best, and he definitely shouldn’t do any more fighting unless it’s absolutely necessary, but at least he can walk on his own. “What do you want?”

“I need to get out of this city anonymously and stay that way. I have a feeling you want that too and can make it happen for both of us.”

Neil nods slowly, thinking about his original plan to get away. He thinks that there’s another parking ramp near here, but it might just be easier to steal a car parked on the street. They’re not too far from a residential area, so they could just slip down there, steal some soccer mom’s crossover, and hit the interstate with no one the wiser.

“So,” Neil says, trying to talk his way out of having a panic attack, “neither of us were wearing masks when we attacked, so our descriptions are probably going to have made the rounds already. We’re going to need to stop somewhere for new masks….” Neil tugs at his bangs, wincing to himself at that fuckup. Of course, his mask is in his father’s hands, now, so it’s not like he even _could_ have put it on, but attacking without something over his face was a big mistake. “I have a contact in Carson City, but we’re going to have to stay completely off radar until we can get there. I… can you drive?”

“In theory.”

Carson City is a four hour drive. “This is going to be just… so much fun,” he mutters, tipping his head back and staring up at the smoggy sky.

“That’s putting it mildly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure where to end this, so it's shorter than it could be. I didn't want it getting too long because I wanted to actually be able to give you guys something lmao

Andrew parks the car, but he doesn’t turn it off, and he doesn’t make a move to get out. “I thought you said we were getting new masks.”

“We are,” Neil says, toneless.

“In _this_ dump?” Andrew scoffs, looking around the place. It’s a small, squat, off-white building with no windows, situated in some dirty forgotten side street that Andrew would usually deem perfect for hunting. There’s barely room on the edge of the street for Andrew to park the car, but they manage. “Do you get a free tetanus infection with every purchase, or is there an upcharge for that?”

Neil doesn’t respond, simply unlocks the car door by hand and steps out into the pink morning. Reining in a sigh, Andrew follows. He takes extra care locking the car that Neil jacked for them when they left California; it’s innocuous – a four-door Nissan dressed up in chrome wheels and some sort of mauve-tan color that makes Andrew feel like a suburban soccer mom when he’s behind the wheel. But it runs like a dream, so he’s not going to complain. And Andrew had swapped the plates on it with a black Ford when they had stopped for gas just after crossing state lines. Hopefully, that would buy them more time after the car was inevitably reported missing.

“If I contract some unholy disease, you’re paying for the hospital bill,” Andrew says, unwilling to let the topic go as he steps around a twisted scrap of metal on the ground. He takes back what he thought about hunting here; only a dumbass human would walk here at night, one who was probably already diseased and had nothing to live for.

“We’re ghouls,” Neil says, staring drolly at Andrew over the hood, humor bouncing around in his eyes, “we don’t get diseases.”

“You might,” Andrew says, vividly recalling Neil’s single red eye from the night before. He thought one-eyed ghouls were myths, stupid bedtime stories of monsters that cannibalized other ghouls. And yet, here was Neil, five-foot-three and skinny, and no more monstrous than Andrew. Actually, Andrew would put money down that he himself was the monster here.

Neil opens his mouth as if to argue, but his brows furrow and he closes his mouth before anything comes out. Andrew can’t decide if that hesitation is another secret; he feels like Neil is holding onto a lot of secrets. Not that Andrew _isn’t_ holding onto secrets of his own, but….

Doesn’t matter.

Shaking his head, Neil walks off towards the door, muttering something about Andrew being frustrating and a know-nothing.

Andrew smirks. Something got under Neil’s skin.

A pocket of warmth flowers in the pit of Andrew’s stomach as he watches Neil walk away, taking in the thick mass of dark brown curls from the back, watching the way those narrow shoulders stiffen the closer Neil gets to the door. Andrew follows him before he can think about it.

The door to the place is a dented, partially rusted, rectangle of black metal, and it reminds Andrew of the back entrance to Eden’s Twilight. Neil turns the handle without any fuss, and Andrew follows him into a fluorescent-lit store. Masks line the walls, staring down at them in a mixture of judgement and amusement. Andrew doesn’t like the feeling of so many eyes crawling over his skin.

The middle-aged woman who steps around the counter to greet them is just as innocuous as the Nissan. “Can I help you boys?” she asks, hands folded politely in front of her. Andrew knows she’s a ghoul, but her smile is motherly. She’d be a good fit for the Nisan, actually. Maybe they can use that as payment, since they don’t have any money. Neil can always just steal them a new car. A sexier one this time.

“We need custom masks,” Neil says, leaving Andrew’s side to prowl around the perimeter of the store. That’s exactly what Andrew would call it, too – prowling. Neil makes a good show looking at the pre-made masks, but something distinctly predatory has slithered its way into his frame. Andrew stiffens, not sure what to make of this “new” Neil. “And other things,” Neil adds, softly, like an afterthought.

“We only sell masks here,” the woman says, still pleasant but with something like steel under her tone.

Neil doesn’t so much as glance her way. He picks up a mask, studies it, and a different sort of mask slips over Neil’s features, hardening them, pinching his brows and drawing his mouth. Casually, Neil vocalizes a string of what has to be French, as fluently as if it was his native language. He pauses only once to glance at the woman, and then he continues speaking. He replaces the mask and moves on.

Andrew notes those stiff shoulders and registers what he missed outside. Neil had changed his posture long before entering the store, and Andrew had mistaken that shift for anxiety or apprehension. He’s going to have to keep a closer eye on Neil from now on.

If they even stick together after this.

But then, maybe it’s not Neil that’s hard to read. Andrew can pick up on these things despite only knowing the kid for five or so hours. They’re distinct changes from the relaxed – if hesitant – boy who had saved Andrew’s life and stolen a car for them, who had been willing and maybe eager to die in that dirty alley of that damned city.

No, maybe this lapse is on Andrew. After all, he didn’t notice it outside, started assuming things about Neil, didn’t see this coming.

Despite that, Andrew decides he doesn’t like this Neil, and he wants the other one back. But he says nothing, does nothing – hardly even dares to breathe lest it detract from whatever the fuck Neil is saying.

By the end of Neil’s winded and one-sided conversation, the woman’s features have smoothed out once more into something that Andrew might, on a good day, consider pleasant. “Of course, Mr. Hatford,” she says, at it takes Andrew a few moments to realize that she’s still addressing Neil, but now with a last name. “I can get started on that right away. The passports and IDs can be rushed in after we get photos taken. Of course, it’ll take a couple of days at least for the masks, but I’ll prioritize them.”

“Do,” Neil says, and, back to English, the shift in his tone is more pronounced. This is not the Neil that Andrew saved in California. This is someone else, someone with an entitled haughtiness in his expression that Andrew has an immediate distaste for. “You can measure Andrew first.” At that, Neil meets Andrew’s gaze and, only briefly, the placidness that Andrew has grown alarmingly accustomed to is back. But it only serves to make Andrew leery; it makes him realize that he doesn’t actually know Neil at all.

They were going to have to fix that, if they were going to stay together after this.

Andrew raises his eyebrows at the order – the order not just to the woman, but to Andrew. But he’s smart enough to realize when he’s out of his depth, when the game being played is not one that he knows the rules to, and not one whose rules he knows how to break. It’s evident to him now that a wrong step could potentially lead to a bottomless plunge.

He’s going to have to trust Neil to play the game correctly, and that trust is an ugly taste in his mouth.

He steps forward and takes the seat that the woman indicates with one slender hand while she walks behind the counter. She emerges with a tape measurer in one hand, a pad of paper and a pencil in the other.

She takes up a position behind Andrew, and Andrew immediately stiffens, his back becoming a coil of tension. His breath turns to lead. Maybe the woman notices, or maybe it was never her intention to stay behind him, but she moves in front of Andrew a moment later. He forces himself to relax. “So, tell me a bit about yourself,” she says, lifting the tape measurer to circle Andrew’s forehead.

That question brings back just enough memories of foster homes and potential families for Andrew to say, “No.” He has to work to keep his voice bland.

The woman just chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” Andrew’s shoulders are quick to stiffen again, and he tilts his chin to stare at her. Hard and flat. Powerful. If she wants to fuck with him, that’s her problem.

“Andrew,” Neil says, and his voice is dangerous too.

Andrew ignores him.

The woman looks up from where she was writing down a measurement. She looks between Neil and Andrew, and then she shrugs. Nonchalant. “You just said quite a bit about yourself, that’s all. Thank you.”

Andrew scowls, and, from across the room, he catches Neil relaxing and, despite everything, smirking.

The woman doesn’t give Andrew time to think about it. “What was your previous mask?” she asks, moving the tape measurer around on Andrew’s face and taking notes.

This time, Andrew doesn’t answer. The woman tsks her tongue. “If you can’t trust a fellow ghoul, who can you trust?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” The answer is immediate on his tongue, stated impassively, factually. It’s not a lie.

The woman watches him. “Impenetrable and cold,” she murmurs, perhaps to herself. “I’m starting to get an idea for you.” She doesn’t elaborate, nor does she seem to expect Andrew to say something.

Andrew doesn’t care. If it covers his face, he’ll be happy.

The woman just shakes her head a little and continues working. She’s not quiet for long, though, and Andrew wonders how much of it is her trying to figure out that details that will go into the mask and how much of it is her being a busybody. “Who are you to Abram?”

Who the fuck is Abram? It takes Andrew too long to figure out that she’s talking about Neil. Andrew cuts his eyes to the brown-haired boy keeping an eye on everything from across the length of the store. _Abram_. “No one,” Andrew says, distracted. How many other things has Neil lied about? Maybe the better question is – how many things has he told the truth about? It’s not like they were asking each other a lot of question on the drive here. Maybe they should have been.

“He’s my bodyguard,” Neil – Abram? – says, unconcerned and barely paying attention. At least, that’s the front Neil’s putting on. Andrew can see the tension in his body, the way his feet are placed, where he balance is leaning. He’s ready to run should he need to. In a heartbeat, Neil could be gone.

Andrew grunts. Bodyguard, huh? Well, he could live with that, he supposed. Though, if Neil thought he was going to start bossing him around… nuh-uh, nope, that wasn’t happening. There was no way that Andrew would follow orders from anyone, least of all someone he barely fucking knows.

“What inspired this?” the woman asks, tugging on Andrew’s ear and, for some reason, measuring that too. Andrew doesn’t respond, since she’s obviously not talking to him. It sounds like such a personal question, though, and he wonders how well Neil knows this woman.

Neil picks up another mask, studies it, sets it down. “I was attacked. I don’t plan on letting that happen again.” Well-constructed truths to hide a lie.

Every word that Neil says in that stupid superior tone drives Andrew just a little more insane. He sounds… he sounds like some stupid prince, someone who has power and knows how to use it for his own gain. Is this who Neil really is? Neil had switched so smoothly that Andrew can’t tell whether this Neil is the real one or if the more humble Neil is.

Maybe they are both real. Maybe neither of them are.

The woman steps back and waves her hand. “I’m done with you.”

Andrew would have made a snarky comment were he not relieved to get out from under her gaze, away from her hands and her intrusive questions. Neil walks past him, too close – Andrew’s heart thunders – and occupies the now-vacant seat. Andrew doesn’t move, doesn’t dare leave the store or even Neil’s proximity with the illusion of what he is to Neil hanging in the room. Bodyguard.

Fine then.

He walks around the woman and stands nearer to Neil, watching the way his shoulders tense, watches the way the woman marks the space – or lack thereof – between them. Andrew doesn’t want to think about her raised eyebrows and the way she holds her mouth in an almost-smirk. But he clears his throat and catches her gaze in a flat one of his own. “Hurry up,” he says. Neil shifts, looks over his shoulder. Andrew keeps talking before Neil can say a word. “I want a cigarette, so hurry up.”

Neil’s eyes narrow, but he turns back around. “Addict,” he says, almost scathingly. Andrew refrains from pinching the back of his arm. “You literally just had one. Right before we got out of the car.”

Andrew says nothing. Doesn’t have to. Neil doesn’t have a choice but to go along with him. They need to talk, and they need to stay together, if only to keep up appearances. And Andrew really, really needs that cigarette. But he waits patiently while the woman begins taking down Neil’s measurements.

“What was your mask before?” she asks, the same question that she asked Andrew. She plucks at Neil’s hair and frowns. Andrew notices too – the lighter roots.

“Rabbit,” Neil says, swallowing. Andrew doubts he’s the only one that picks up on Neil’s discomfort. “The Grey Rabbit.” _Runner_ , the name suggests. Nothing that could or would stand out in a crowd. Andrew wonders where the mask is now, why Neil wasn’t wearing it last night.

The woman only hums. “And your kagune?”

“Ukaku.”

“Hm, yes, that seems fitting.”

Now Andrew is well and truly confused. Some of her questions earlier suggested that she knew Neil, but now her questions are those of a curious stranger. Just one more thing to ask Neil.

She asks him a few other questions, and, for the most part, Neil answers them. More cooperative than Andrew, at the very least. It makes the woman seem pleased, though Andrew isn’t exactly sure what to make of that. He’s not sure why he feels like he has to make anything of it. She releases Neil with a flick of her hand. “Go,” she says, gathering up her pad of paper and tucking her pencil behind her ear. “Come back tomorrow with smiling faces for the camera.”

“Tomorrow?” Neil counters, eyebrows raised.

The woman hums. “The masks are going to take time. Four days, minimum. Paperwork and documents can be rushed overnight. Let me get started on the masks today, and you leave to die your hair and get contacts or whatever. We open at ten.” Andrew pulls out his phone to check the time and frowns. It’s a little before eight. The woman chuckles, and Andrew raises his eyes to see her staring at him. “I just make masks and run the store. My partner is the one who does all the techy stuff. I can barely run the front till.”

Andrew doesn’t smile at her attempt at humor, and neither does Neil.

Eventually the woman shakes her head and walks away. “Go on. Leave me to my work.”

Andrew is the first one out the door.


End file.
